Finally I’ve discovered how to access the internet for free! I wrote the following on the 4th August about the night of the 3rd, in the hope that I could upload it soon...

Setting off at 11pm, we arrived at the whalebone pile in the East of Barter Island within minutes, the waning light of the sun guiding us along potholed dirt roads, with reams of tundra spread out on one side, and 300 miles of open Arctic sea on the other. There were three of us in the truck - Scott (a plumber by trade, who spent 6 months of the year as an amateur photographer), a glaciology research student from New England, and myself - inexperienced filmmaker. Scott carried with him a new, high quality digital camera, which was incongruously paired to a massive, 20 year old zoom lens. He was driving, and had seen grizzlies at the bone pile on three previous occasions, so we were in good company. After arriving at the pile, we waited some 20 minutes before the research student spotted a moving black dot in the distance. Scott grabbed his binoculars and peered out at the tundra; I did the same, and, as I scanned the featureless expanse of grasses, a lumbering leviathan trundled into view. We watched as the bear ran along the horizon, breath rolling out in huge clouds, feet crashing through the wetland, golden coat resplendent against the slowly setting sun. It was headed this way.

The bone pile is located a few hundred metres down a slope from the village dump. It was towards the dump that our bear seemed to be headed, and, as it disappeared out of view behind some construction vehicles, Scott started up the engine and cruised along the road to the dump. As we drove, I glanced up to our left and saw the bear sitting astride the rubbish pile, majestic despite his filthy surroundings.

On arriving at the dump, the bear ran off, cascading down the hill and into the marshland. However, it was only a matter of minutes before he was sniffing around the dump's boundary fence, as I leaned out of the car window, balancing my camera on the wingmirror and recording the slow, pondering movements of this phenomenal creature. The height of a pony, and every bit as furry as a teddy bear, he nevertheless gave off an air of malevolence, every now and then glancing up at our truck and sliding his wet tongue across furry lips, contemplating his next meal. After chewing on a piece of caribou, ripping it to shreds with his powerful claws, the bear became restless, and mounted the slope at the edge of the road, sauntering towards our vehicle. The bear continued walking towards us, until, with a violent exhalation, he stopped, sniffing the air and rolling his head, uncertain of his next move.

By this point, the shutters on three cameras were clicking with fury, as we made the most of the fading sunlight. The bear suddenly lurched to its right, and strode up into the rubbish pile out of sight, and cursing his flight, we sat back and surveyed the landscape. The bear, apparently growing rapidly bored with the dump, walked back into view, just in time to see another black dot moving rapidly across the tundra towards it. We spotted this second bear at about the same time, and our lenses flicked back into position, my film rolling, Scott's camera poised, tense and hoping for a dramatic encounter. The first bear waited but a moment before tumbling down towards the second, fur streaming and breath steaming, legs pumping - it is astonishing the speed at which these animals can travel - hundreds of metres are swallowed up in seconds. The two bears crashed into one another, jaws closing around skin, paws stretching out to deliver thundering blows, bodies stretching upwards into the sky. And this was just playfighting - the two bears must have been related, for they joined together and galloped down the tundra and back towards the bone pile.

I think I’m on dial-up so I won’t be uploading too many photos. However, here’s a snatched shot I got of the bear through the truck windshield: